


when the colours spill, blood does too

by tw0nkie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Pining, Soulmate AU, Unrequited Love, aaaa first fic, colours!!!!!!, dub-con, pls tell me what else to tag!!!!!!, poor eponine my daughter, some murder, stupid, very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 20:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10624236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tw0nkie/pseuds/tw0nkie
Summary: A collection of stories, looking at a few instances of colours and soulmates. Valvert-centric. Soulmate AU where u can't see colours til u meet ur soulmate





	

Ever since the beginning of humankind, there have been those who could see colour, and those who could not.

 

Everyone was born without the Sight, the ability to identify the blues, reds, and yellows so often whispered of in every romantic’s mind. Eventually, they would gain the Sight. The Sight was gained from a meeting of skin, a brush of hands from a special someone (or special someones).

 

This phenomenon puzzled every curious mind, and people wondered just what exactly it was about their other part(s) that unlocked this Sight. Perhaps a soulmate, perhaps an enemy, but everyone agreed that these people were intertwined in the ever-twisting web of fate.

 

Here, we examine some cases, perhaps not un-ordinary.

-

Their first meeting is in the blaze of the sun.

 

Javert stands among the rest of the guards, cudgel in hand, as he watches the prisoners go to and fro, the clinking of chains could be heard with each wave of a hand, shifting of a foot.

 

His gaze shifts towards one of the older prisoners, number 24601. He raises the pickaxe above his head, and swings it down, crushing the rock beneath it. Sweat drips into his eye and he momentarily hesitates to wipe it out.

 

The guard beside the prisoner shoves him with the cudgel, forcing him back to work. Once again, those muscles flex and tense as another rock is crushed. Javert continues to watch his actions, every flex of the prisoner’s muscles twisting a knot in Javert.

 

He forces his eyes away, wondering for a brief moment on what exactly that strange feeling was. His thoughts are interrupted by a cry, and his head turns towards the source. The guard overwatching prisoner 24601 was turning away and wiping something off his cheek. 24601 was glowering at the guard, an animalistic snarl twisting the unpretty features of his face.

 

Javert is there in a moment, with the guard shouting at the prisoner, “You spat at me! You’ll be punished for your insolence!”

 

The prisoner growls and raises his pickaxe, to smash yet another rock, and there is fear in the guard’s eyes for a moment. Javert jabs his cudgel into 24601’s ribs, and the prisoner’s head snaps towards him, anger burning in all its fiery glory in those eyes. The prisoner towers over him, and Javert has to incline his head to meet the prisoner’s eyes.

 

_ He could kill me now _ , thinks Javert, and yet he is unafraid. Some part of him knows that the prisoner won’t. Can’t.

 

He brings the cudgel up, tilting the prisoner’s chin upwards. His bare hand so close to the rough grit of the prisoner’s chin, but skin doesn’t meet skin. Other guards rush into the scene and the situation is quickly resolved, punishment dealt.

 

Javert almost forgets the situation, but he doesn’t. Not completely. Not forever.

-

Madeleine is very afraid when he sees his new police inspector, but none of it shows on his face. He didn’t evade the law for almost a decade to fall now.

 

Javert bows respectfully, his eyes looking at the polished shoes Madeleine wears, so carefully part of this image meant to hide, to deceit.

 

“Monsieur le Maire,” a gruff voice addresses him and oh how that sound makes his spine shiver!

 

The mayor inclines his head, an easy smile spreading his features as he attempts to relax his muscles.

 

Javert introduces himself, shows the necessary papers, and in the middle of this process, asks a question which makes Madeleine freeze for just a moment, a damning moment.

 

“Your face seems familiar, but I don’t recall where from. Have we met before?” Javert asks, a question so innocent yet so accusing.

 

Madeleine inhales, and tries to skip over the fact that he’s missed his cue to reply. “No, I don’t think so. Your face wouldn’t be an easy one to forget.” He smiles, easily slipping back into the guise of a charming mayor.

 

A confused look crosses over Javert’s features, and that is perhaps one of the greatest differences between them. No thought was in Javert’s head that didn’t show on his face, yet Madeleine’s thoughts could contrast his expression in every way.

 

Madeleine pretends his heart doesn’t skip a beat when Javert’s face settles with a slow flush of his cheeks, and he wishes dearly that he could see it in colour. Would it be as beautiful as books said?

 

Then he folds the thoughts and fools himself like he fools everyone he meets. No, that couldn’t possibly be true.

-

Valjean smiles for Fantine, as easily as he had smiled for the town as Madeleine. But Madeleine was gone now.

 

Javert interrupts the scene, his words cold, precise, and fatal. Fantine’s eyes widen and she is no longer peaceful. With a dying cry, her body convulses once, and lies still, a blankness wiping away her expression and her life.

 

Rage fills his heart, in the same way it did during his first meeting with Javert. He is filled with the strength that comes only from grief and a sense of being wronged, and the pickaxe he raises over his head is now wood.

 

Javert has a weapon too, and his cudgel is now a rapier. Their confrontation is almost a dance, Javert’s hand steady and Valjean’s hand strong. The weapons collide, but their skin doesn’t and the world remains colourless as a flurry of swings and misses happen.

 

Valjean’s mind has never fully recovered from 20 years in prison, and he knows all possible escape routes. He knows where he’s slowly going, but Javert is still unaware, all eyes on him and not around him.

 

His heart is rattling in his rib cage as he makes a dive out the window. He hears a frustrated cry of “24601!” before he’s fully swallowed by the tide.

-

A brush of hands in a crowd and suddenly the world blooms before his eyes.

 

He can see the blue of the sky and the green of trees, and the browns and yellows and purples and oranges and reds. He twists around, trying to find who made this happen, who caused the world to unfold its beauty, and his eyes meet blue ones and his heart skips a beat. It’s The One, and he can’t tell how he knows, but she is.

 

There’s sudden commotion, and she’s whisked away.

 

His heart droops, like a wilting flower but faster, until he spies upon Eponine and his heart blooms again. Eponine, his trustworthy little fox of a friend. Her hair is a dark red, his mind assigning words to colours he doesn’t yet know. Her eyes are a deep shade of brown and they have that mischievous glint they always had even without colour.

 

He grasps her hands in his and pleads with her to find the girl with blue eyes and Eponine agrees. His heart cheers, and over the cheering, he couldn’t hear the tinge of sadness in her tone.

-

Cosette goes home with her mind in scatters, whirling around the question of that boy. The boy with the red-brown hair and she doesn’t know how she knows but she does the same way she knows his eyes are brown.

 

Papa’s eyes are blue, like hers, but she doesn’t tell him that and it’s one of the first things she doesn’t. Their fight wounds her heart and she rushes out into the garden. Papa does not follow.

 

She rushes through the greenery but she is too sad to notice the beauty of the reds and yellows and pinks. Her eye catches a flash of a familiar brown and she twists and spots  _ him _ .

 

Cosette draws closer to the gate, and their hands touch again.

 

“Who are you?” she breathes and he replies, “My name is Marius.”

 

“I’m Cosette,” and they begin to talk, to talk about everything there was from apples to zebras, from the topic of time to the topic of rhyme.

 

Neither of them notice a girl watching them, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

-

Eponine was hoping in her heart that their bond wouldn’t be one of those romantic ones, that they’d be really good friends like countless others, but the look in their eyes confirmed her worst fears. They were in love, and she was too. But they were in love together, and she was in love alone.

 

Her heart seems to stop, and there is no reason to continue. It shatters as she watches them interact, their souls clicking like everyone said soulmates’ would.

 

She can’t bear to watch them anymore, she can’t bear to watch as she loses him.

 

The moment she lost him, she lost her life, too.

-

Javert scowls as the revolutionaries discuss on the best way to end him. He has no fear. This was a fitting end. Him dying as he does his duty. His work was his life, and to kill him working was to kill him living.

 

The revolutionaries leave to defend against the next attack, and minutes, hours pass, before he hears footsteps and chatter nearing his position.

 

The rope is uncomfortable and he wonders just  _ where _ did those boys learn how to tie it. His thoughts are interrupted by a gunshot, then multiple others and cries of war. He sees the leader enter and prepares to snarl a few words of resentment when he spots a familiar face and he hisses. Valjean.

 

Their eyes meet and Valjean flinches under his gaze, but they both know who the one in power is. Valjean talks to the leader, pointing to Javert, and the leader nods. With that nod, Javert knows he will be dead in a few moments.

 

Valjean picks him up by the noose, and drags him outside. Javert sneers at him, his act has finally fallen and he’d reveal his true colours now. Valjean would just be doing his duty.

 

In Valjean’s hand is a knife, a crude weapon for a crude man. Fitting.

 

The knife swings through the air and cuts the rope, just a few millimetres from his neck. Javert holds his breath, sudden self-preservation rearing its head. Valjean watches him carefully, and Javert stares back. He’d do it now.

 

Valjean’s finger brushes against his bobbing Adam’s apple and suddenly the world  _ changes _ . Valjean flinches. He’s in shock too, at this overload of  _ new _ .

 

Javert freezes up in horror.  _ No _ . The convict’s gaze has softened, but Javert’s heart has hardened. He bares his teeth as Valjean’s thumb brushes against his bottom lip absentmindedly. He kneels down and their lips press together for the first time. Javert’s eyes close as the kiss drags him in like the currents of a river.

 

They break apart and Javert can’t tell if the kiss lasted for seconds or centuries, but the kiss  _ happened _ . He snarls at Valjean. Once a thief, forever a thief. First, he’d stolen a loaf of bread, then a position as Mayor, then a child, and now a kiss.

 

(And, though he wouldn’t have admitted it at that time, perhaps a heart.)

 

The knife cuts through some more rope, and Valjean whispers into his ear, “You’re free now.” But Javert isn’t, like a convict on parole, Valjean has left him with a mark unerasable. It was futile to attempt to erase the red of the blood or the black of the sky. It was futile to attempt to erase that kiss.

 

Javert gets up from his knees and walks away. (Perhaps he ran, but he’d never admit it. He simply walked a little faster than usual.)

 

The sound of a gun makes him flinch as a bullet buries itself into the wall beside him, and he looks back momentarily at Valjean. Their eyes meet, and Javert supposes this makes another time he could have died to Valjean’s hand. It is disgusting, only being alive from the mercy of a convict.

 

It is wrong. He didn’t want to think about this. He won’t.

-

Grantaire wakes up and something is wrong. No, it isn’t the fact that there is no more alcohol around him. Something is just  _ wrong _ .

 

He gets up, and tries to avoid tripping over his feet. He hears the sound of bullets and the cries of his friends. A cry is cut short.

 

His heart stammers and he tries not to think about what that means.

 

He looks around through the haze of alcohol, and stumbles his way to what seems like the right place. He goes up the stairs and is the focus of soldiers’ gazes.

 

“I am one of them!” he declares, and his voice is absent from the slur of alcohol. His eyes meet Enjolras’ as he states, “Long live the Republic.”

 

He makes his way to Enjolras’ side, and turns to him, “Do you permit it?”

 

Enjolras smiles, and grasps his hand tightly. Colours bloom across the world and he can see the gold of Apollo’s hair and the red of his coat–

 

He falls at Enjolras’ feet, Apollo still smiling in death, still beautiful. And most of all, still.

-

Javert is at the entrance when Valjean exits, upon his back not a potato sack as he first imagined, but rather, a boy with red-brown hair. He can still identify the colours through the filth, the damning colours.

 

“One more step and you die,” he warns Valjean. The convict turns around, and their eyes meet. The blue of Valjean’s eyes stand out against the brown of the filth, and they penetrate Javert like a bullet penetrates a heart. Fatally.

 

Valjean continues to walk and the gun shakes in his hands. He lets it fall into the sewers. It is garbage now. Useless, just like him. Valjean has made him broken. Worthless.

 

When he reaches the bridge, it is like fate. Like he is meant to be here. No longer was the world in black and white, where convicts were evil and he was good. Now, the world was filled with damning  _ colours _ , and Javert was the thief and Valjean was the guard.

 

He sets the hat down on the parapet, and lets himself fall like a shooting star, a dying star. The Seine pulls him in like the kiss did, and the darkness he enters does not let him free.

-

The colours disappeared as suddenly as they came, when Valjean was alone in his house, Cosette being by Marius’ side.

 

His throat tightens as he considers the implications. Javert– because of him?

 

He doesn’t know. He can’t think. He does one of the only things that has kept him alive. He prays.

 

The next day, he reads the news. In a tiny little corner, it states that the body of an Inspector has been found.

-

Grantaire wakes up again, in the same place, but he is not surrounded by alcohol and the world is not black and white. He can hear music, and he can feel light on his skin.

 

“Grantaire,” the voice of an angel calls him, and the sinner turns around to face the righteous.

 

“Enjolras,” he breathes and it is as if he is taking his first breath. Apollo is stretching out a hand and he takes it.

-

Valjean lies in Cosette’s arms and smiles at his beautiful daughter. Colours begin to invade the world again, and he can see that her hair is a beautiful brown. Her eyes are a striking blue, a calming blue, and he is lost in them as he closes his eyes.

 

Something wet and cold touches his face, sparking him back. It feels like being slapped by a wet fish.

 

“Hhng,” he says intelligently as he snaps open his eyes, “d- don’t hit me with a wet fish.”

 

His voice sounds young again, unfamiliar to his ears. The first thing he sees is Javert, the same age he was when he’d freed him from the ropes.

 

A darkness lurks over the man, and the first words out of his mouth are cold, “A wet fish?”

 

Javert is dripping, he realises numbly. Dripping with what? Then he remembers and his mouth goes dry. He gets up, without his bones complaining, and he feels younger. He pushes himself up and sees Javert on his knees, almost as if a weight were pulling him down.

 

“Get up,” he commands, and Javert does. The years seem to melt off Javert’s face as Valjean picks him up, the radiance of Valjean chasing away the cold of the Seine. They walk together, hand in hand, towards distant drums and singing voices.

 

“So,” Javert repeats. “A wet fish?”


End file.
